International Incident

I have now been in Romania for nearly three months, and I'm beginning to observe some significant cultural differences. One of these concerns moving air. Romanians seem to have an instinctive aversion to any breeze or hint of fresh air that enters an enclosed space. I first experienced this in September during an unusal heat spell. I attended a meeting of inspectors in Brasov on a day with temperatures reaching the mid-90s. Fifty people packed themselves into a room designed to accommodate thirty and sat sweating as if in a hotbox. Not only was there no air conditioning, but every window was sealed. I had hoped that as autumn arrived I would get some relief. I realized that my hope was in vain on a crisp October day when I hailed a cab on my way to work. As I opened the taxi door a wave of heat blasted me in the face as if I had opened the door to Hades. I could almost hear the shrieks of the damned as I took my seat next to the driver. After a few minutes beads of sweat were appearing on my forehead and I was struggling to breathe the thick fiery air. I decided to take matters in my own hands, and I nonchalantly cracked the window a few inches. In a flash the driver exclaimed in horror, reached across me, and summarily rolled the window back up. For good measure he turned the heater up a notch (from BAKE to BROIL I think) and eyed me contemptuosly as if daring me to pull a foolish stunt like that again. This same Romanian need to superheat enclosed spaces extends everywhere. Trains, busses, classrooms, etc are all kept uncomfortably hot. I have begun toying with idea of working in my underwear. Imagine my surprise and delight, then, when I entered a train compartment recently and found the window partially opened. I would never again dare to crack a window myself, but since I found it that way I chose to let sleeping windows lie. For an hour or so, I and my companions in the compartment enjoyed a pleasant journey through the countryside with the company of a wonderful light breeze. We then made a stop and were joined by a middle-aged couple dressed as if on a Himalayan expedition (I think their Sherpa guide was packed off somewhere in third-class). After a few moments they spoke to a young woman sitting next to me. The young woman then got up and closed the window about halfway. As I sat there reading my book, the couple muttered something else to the woman and left. The train journey continued on uneventfully for several hours when the young woman turned to me and spoke. "You know you offended that couple earlier", she said. "What? How?" I said, vaguely even remembering who she could have been referring to. "That couple that wanted the window closed. They said you were selfish for not closing it. That's why I closed it halfway. But then they just got angry with me and said that I was taking your side because you were a foreigner. So they left." My side? What side? Did I have a side? I was baffled. I had somehow caused an international incident by doing...well...by doing nothing. I suddenly wondered who else I might have affronted while minding my own business. My Romanian friends have assured me that this was not typical and I shouldn't worry, but still I have found myself a little paranoid. I have also found myself searching items on Yahoo for news about climbing accidents involving Romanian couples on Everest. Avalanche season is approaching.

Snaps From My Teacher Training Course

Some Snaps From Suceava

International Conference on British and American Studies

This is a picture of me speaking at the Messages, Sages, and Ages Conference at the University of Stephan Cel Mare. I was one of two keynote speakers for the conference. It was a wonderful experience although I felt a bit out of my element. Most of the participants were PhD professors in literary studies with topics such as "The Space-Time Paradigm in British Literature", and "The Duality of Reality and Imagination in British and American Post-Modernist Fiction." The title of my speech was, "Bumping My Head; Navigating Through Cross-Cutural Doorways." I am not sure if the content was Modernist, Post-Modernist, or Post-Post-Modernist. Whatever it was, those in attendance will now have strategies for keeping their balance while using a Japanese "squatty-potty". Don't let the serious look on my face fool you. The picture was snapped after the conclusion of my talk. I tried to pose like I was saying something profound. Sadly it looks more like I need to make a quick exit for that aforementioned squatty-potty.

Dem Bones Dem Bones Dem Dry Bones

October 14th is the feast day of Sfanta Parasceva, the Defender of Moldavia. Her bones and other holy relics are kept at Iasi's massive central cathedral. The faithful from across Romania and much of Eastern Europe converge on the city for a week of activities both religious and decidedly secular. Like rock fans seeking tickets for a sure to be sold-out show, lines of people camp out for days outside the cathedral for the chance to pray over the sacred bones of Parasceva. The less devout, however, skip the church, break out their latest batch of "must"( a wine-like spirit) and stumble through the streets attending concerts, cultural events, and craft fairs. The goods for sale are equally incongruous. At one stall selling handiwares, a row of crosses and religious icons shared a display case with a naked gnome giving the finger and a print of Minnie Mouse mooning a red-faced Goofey.

On the last day of the festivities, I left Iasi to attend a conference about 100 miles to the northwest. It was my first solo train journey and I was exceedingly pleased that I managed to board the right train and find my seat without a hitch. As I entered the compartment I was cheerfully greeted by a 77 year-old woman from the southern part of the country returning from her pilgrimmage. She immediately began chatting with me in rapid-fire Romanian. I tried to be good company, but after establishing that I was a teacher from America going to a conference, my linguistic skills began to fail me. This did not deter her. She kept right on going--highly animated--sometimes laughing at a joke she had made, and then proceding to regale me with more stories filled with wit and pathos. After a few moments the compartment door opened and a young university student entered and took her seat. The older woman asked our new travelling companion if she spoke English. After a moment's hesitation, she responded, "Uh...da." My elderly friend's eyes illuminated. She pointed to me and pronounced "din America!" After a few more moments the young woman turned to me and said, "She is happy because I can translate for her." The young soujouner did not appear overjoyed at the prospect as she tucked away the novel she had planned to read in silence and annonymity and sat back to assume her role as a conduit for cross-cultural communication. With that the old woman began to pull out small saint cards. These cards bore the pictures and vital statistics of various champions of Orthodoxy much like baseball cards with the batting percentages and earned run averages of major league Hall of Famers. "This card is of Saint Parasceva," said our translator. "She is especially good for saving you from poisons." The woman handed over a second card. "This is Jesus. I think you know him already." All in all I received six cards. I am not sure what the others will save me from, but if get poisoned any time soon I know to reach for Parasceva. Then the old woman tried to teach me the sign of the cross. To her horror I touched my left shoulder before my right--the Catholic way. "Nu, nu, nu...", she said throwing her hands up in the air with exasperation. "No. You have to do the right first. That makes Satan run away," said the student. I complied like a chastened school-boy. "Oh--da da da--buna!", the woman said, happy to see that her efforts were not in vain. She then began to explain through my translator that besides getting Satan to flee, the use of the sign of the cross also helps to get discounts when shopping. After much more theological education I saw that the train was pulling into Suceava--my stop. I asked if I could take a picture of my new friends before departing. The old woman covered her face and said "Batran--batran" (old old). Despite her protestations, I think you will all agree she has a lovely face. As I left, the young student reached for her novel and bid me farewell. I still don't have all the saints straight in my mind, but I am definately going to remember that shopping tip--Christmas is just around the corner.

I'm not dead.

I am remiss for not updating this blog for nearly a week. I am busy preparing for my first teacher training course which begins tomorrow. In addition, I have to prepare a keynote speech for a conference in the neighboring county of Suceava before going on to another conference in Bucharest at the end of the month. While in reality I try to maintain the face of a calm smiling Buddha statue, the picture above more closely resembles how I am feeling.

I promise to post something within a few days. If not, I promise to refund the price of all your subscriptions.

To my father, I would like to thank you for your thoughts on the election. I think Lincoln would be a good choice, however I doubt he would want to run again seeing how things turned out the last time. As for Palin, she might well go moose hunting in the congress. Thankfully most of our politicians rarely bother to show up for votes. The ones who do come will most likely be asleep, so they will die painlessly.

To Dr. Sherri Tapp. It was good to hear from you as well. I hope your mod. goes swimmingly. I always enjoyed coming to your class. Are you still hitting the gym? I am going to join a local fitness club once they are finished with rennovations. In the mean time, I am enjoying a diet of cream and butter soaked mashed-potatoes, fried meatballs, pork and beef cutlets, and 300-varieties of sausages. The only green thing I have seen on any plate here in Romania is the floral pattern on the porcelain.

If anyone is thinking of possible Christmas gifts, some nitro-glycerin and a defibrolator might come in handy soon!

Decision 2008

Last week I had the opportunity to visit some more classes at Mihail Eminescu High School. I was met in the teachers room by a dignified looking woman in her late 40's who stood about 5ft1. "Jeff, we are going to visit a British Culture class for twelfth graders. I will introduce you at the beginning. Hopefully if there is time at the end, students can ask you a few questions about America."

Together we slogged up five flights of stairs. For some reason every class I have observed is on the fifth floor. The first impression I make is of a man huffing and puffing with beads of sweat at the temples.

After being introduced to the class I was directed to a seat at the back of the room, and the lesson began. The topic for the day was the British Parliament. The following are some facts I learned about the Parliament.

1. In the House of Commons, there are two red lines drawn on the floor separating the Torries from the Labour Party. No one is allowed to cross these lines. This is to prevent sword fights and stranglings.

2. The Queen has the power to veto legislation. The last monarch to veto legislation was Charles the First. He was beheaded. It would be interesting to see what would happen if the Queen tried her luck and vetoed something just to be a provocative.

3. The House of Lords is composed of aristocrats who have inherited their titles. If, however, someone gets a Knighthood, they can be members of the House of Lords as well. The likes of Sir Paul McCartney and Sir Elton John are members of the House of Lords. I was going to ask if that included women like Dame Judy Dench or Dame Helen Mirren. I haven't gotten the whole Sir and Dame thing figured out. And what about Dame Edna?

With about 15 minutes left in the class, the teacher announced, "As you know, we have a special guest here from America. Maybe he can talk a little bit about the American system."

I walked to the front of the class and drew an abstract rendering of the Capitol Building. Drawing is not one of my strong suits. Once I attempted to draw a beaver on the white board, and my American History students thought it was a Tyranosaurous Rex. Some of them probably still think the French and Indian War erupted over competition for dinosaur pelts. To my surprise this class recognized the building and even knew about the Senate and the House of Representatives. It never fails to amaze me how much students from other countries know about America. US students struggle to know the basics. According to a recent study, when shown a picture of the Capitol, 30% of American high school students thought it was the White House. More students know who said "That's hot" than know who said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself".

After a few minutes discussing the American system of government one of the students asked me about the upcoming elections. "So, who do you want to be the president?" I answered that I was still undecided and that both candidates had strengths and weaknesses. Yes-yes, I know. I admit that was a vague wishy-washy answer. I am not proud of my response. I then asked them what they thought. One girl raised her hand. "I think McCain will win." I asked her why she thought that. "Well," she responded. "I just think he is good." I have no right to criticize this answer. Her response was at least as good as mine. To her credit she came down definitively on one side. Then another girl piped up. "But he is too old." To that I responded. "He is the oldest candidate for president. If he is elected, he will be 72 when he takes office. I believe that Obama is 47. That's a big age difference."

"He doesn't look 47", one student said. "That's becuase he is black," said a girl at the back. "Black people don't get wrinkles." This was an opportunity to teach an American expression. "That's right, in America we say, 'black don't crack' ". I actually said, "black doesn't crack" because I didn't want them to be confused as to the correctness of the grammar. I didn't want to get into all the details about African American Vernacular English and its verb conjugations.

As I left the class, I felt out of touch with the goings on of life back in the States--especially with the elections. This weekend I had an opportunity to discuss this with my dear friend Pam Smucker (also known as Smucky--see "Milestones" blog entry from September 1st). The previous night my parents had hosted a "dinner and games" night and invited Pam along with family friends Daryl and Ella Richter. Politics became the topic of the evening. Interested in how people are feeling about the candidates back home, I quizzed Pam on what was said. The following is a list of the pertinent points:

1. John McCain seems arrogant to Daryl. 2. Michelle Obama's hair style and choice of dresses bothers Pam. 3. Ella doesn't like the way Michelle Obama points her chin when she answers questions.

It brings a tear to my eye witnessing American citizens actively engaged in our great democracy. I wonder what everyone thought of Mrs. McCain's choice of lipstick.

Vampire Mosquitos

As you all well know, Romania is the home of Transylvania, and Transylvania is the home of our fangy friend Count Dracula. The historical roots of the Dracula legend stem from a rather dark Romanian prince named Vlad Tepes or Vlad the Impaler. Vlad was not known for his charm or love of poetry, but rather for his tendency to impale his enemies on sharp pikes and watch them writhe for days before entering the next world.

The grisly history aside, I have always been both fascinated and terrified by vampires. As a child I was certain they existed, and believed I had seen a few creeping around the house during the wee hours. Even though vampires were undeniably scary, they also seemed to have an air of regal sophistication. In the Dracula movies I had seen, the vampires were always rich, well-dressed, highly-educated, and full of charisma. The comportment of ghosts, witches, warewolves, and boogie-men was common and uncouth by comparisson.

Last night I had my first real encouter with Romanian vampires. Now, these vampires were not of the traditional sort, but of the insect variety. As I lay contentedly dreaming I was intermittently awakend by the high frequency buzz of a mosquito nearing my face. In my semi-conscious stupor I took a swat at it--thereby striking myself on the cheek and bringing myself into lucidity. I hate hate hate mosquitos coming after me when I am trying to sleep. I got up, switched on the light, and tried to focus on the room through squinted lids. At first it seemed as if they had fled into dark corners, but after a moment or two I saw one of the litte blood-suckers perched on the wall about two feet above my headboard. This creature of the night was just biding her time for when I shut the lights off again so she could have a go at me. With one swat--I smashed her little body against my white plastered wall revealing a blood stain the size of a half-dollar. My blood no doubt! No wonder she was too sluggish to avoid my palm--the little devil was drunk and bloated on rhesus positive type A--a fine vintage I might add.

After a few moments I noticed another mosquito buzzing about near my TV. This one seemed to have the wherewithall not to alight too long in one place. She would fly up through curtains, back along the wall, down near my sock drawer. She diverted her course over and over--never settling anywhere. After about 10 minutes of desperate search, I concluded that she had left the room and I decided to go back to sleep.

I had a fitfull night with murky dreams and the faint sound of buzzing. When I awoke this morning, all appeared to be back to normal. The sunlight poked through the blinds and the birds were serenading each other above the small pack of stray dogs that live below my apartment. I went into the bathroom to shave.....I lifted the razor to my face and saw the reflection of my visage in the mirror drained of color. There were three distinct bites....all on my neck.

Beware the vampire mosquitos.

School Visit

The above images are from the opening day ceremony. The gentleman on the left is Mr Constantin "Ticu" Paidos. On the right are some of the teachers. The tall woman in the center allowed me to visit one of her classes yesterday.

I arrived at Mihail Eminescu Collegio at 8:50 Am. In the teachers room I met with Camelia, an experienced English teacher and teacher trainer in Iasi. She was kind enough to invite me to one of her intensive English classes. Generally classes have about 30 students, but for intensive study the class is halved and divided.

We climbed five flights of stairs and arrived panting outside of classroom 244. As we entered the 6th graders shifted nervously and whispered to each other. I don't think they have many American guests.

Camelia silenced the class. "Now today we have a guest. Ignore him. He will be invisible. I want you to be yourselves. Do not be shy." With that she waved an imaginary magic wand over me and indicated with an "abracadabra" that I had vanished. Despite her efforts, many of the kids continued to eye me nervously.

"Now," she began. "How are each of you today?"

Most students simply responded that they were either "good", "very good", or "great".

One girl confessed to being sleepy. Another replied, "I don't know why, but I feel excited today. I know it is Monday and I should be sleepy. But I am not. I don't know why."

Finally one girl in the front row smiled broadly and said with great flourish, "I am in love!"

The teacher said, "Well. That is your secret. We don't need to know more."

The class then proceded to review the uses of the simple present tense. "Tell me class. What is something you always do when you come home from school?"

"I always eat something." "I always take a nap", "I always take the dog for a walk." One studious young lady in the back row said, "I always do all my homework." To that the girl who was in-love snorted and said, "You are crazy."

All in all I was very impressed with the level of English of these young students. I had the opportunity to visit a 10th grade class who were revewing for an upcoming exam and a 5th grade class that were reading a riveting tale about the adventures of "City Mouse and Country Mouse". Today I will return to the school to discuss training issues with some of the mentor teachers.

Pa Pa

Casa Dulce Casa

School Days

September 15th is the first day of school in Romania. As you can tell by the umbrellas and soggy --wilted bouquets of flowers, this particular September 15th was cold, damp, and dreary.

Unlike schools in the US, Romanian institutions of learning begin with much pomp and circumstance. Students, parents, faculty, staff, local government authorities, and camera crews from around the city assemble outside for an opening ceremony which includes songs and speeches.

The festivities began with the playing of the national anthem. It rang out with themes of struggle, pride, victory, bombs bursting in air, etc.

One teacher turned to me in the middle of it: "It's too long. We can't even remember the words".

Then the brief speeches began. Refer to the previous entry for the Romanian definition of brief.

The teacher turned to me again. "This is an election year. All those people will give speeches today because they want their big smiles on TV. Next year no one will come."

The ceremony ended with an older student and a younger student mounting the stage. The older student carried a small treasure chest. She opened the box and retrived a large golden key. After a few words she passed the key to the younger student, who spoke a few words to the audience and promised to carry on the sacred tradition of learning.

"This is not supposed to be part of the opening ceremony, " the teacher said. "It is only done during graduation. More nonsense for the cameras. I think that little boy is the son of somebody important."

With that another song was played, applause followed, and the children were ushered, soaked and dripping, into the school.

First Week

My first week in Romania has been full. I have had much to take in with a brain still fogged by jet-lag. I keep my relative state of sanity by reminding myself that I don't have to understand everything this minute, and that there are people to ask if I get lost or confused.

I had the pleasure of going to Brasov for a meeting of the English inspectors from each of the 40+ countries of the nation. The positive aspect of the journey was that I made contact with the five inspectors who I will be working with in establishing teacher training workshops this year.

The down side was that the meetings took place mainly in Romanian. Since my Romanian language skills are still in their infancy I felt like the dog from the Far-Side Cartoon. As her master spoke all she could understand was, "blah blah blah Ginger blah blah blah blah Ginger..." For me it was, "Blah blah blah English blah blah blah problem blah blah blah school blah blah...." This went on for hours as I sat in a hot room, sweat pouring down my face, suffering from a headache, and seated on a hard wooden chair. I would like to add that I had only slept 15 minutes the night before. Also, for those of you that know the dimensions of my gluteus maximus--you well know that hard wooden chairs are not my thing.

At one point the director asked a participant to speak in English. According to Cornelia's translation the inspector replied, "No, I do not want him to know what problems I am talking about."

Meetings around the world are the same. As each speaker stood to make their report (they went in alphabetical order by county--over 40 counties) they would begin by saying..."This will be brief...." This could only be considered true if "brief" is defined as the time it would take for a brain-damaged monkey to memorize the works of Shakespeare and recite them in 10 languages. As each speaker droned on about their particular concerns the rest of the inspectors would begin to chat among themselves out of boredom. Then the speaker would raise their voice over the din. This was echoed by a similar increase in volume by the chatters. Then the head inspector would begin to tap her pen on her desk--like a judge with a gavel--to call things to order. This was summarily ignored. "drone drone drone..chatter chatter chatter-tap tap tap==DRONE DRONE DRONE--CHATTER CHATTER CHATTER--TAP TAP TAP..."

Anyway, I was glad to meet the inspectors that will be my hosts this year. And if some of you are reading this, I wasn't referring to any of you in my description above. Your participation at the conference was quite interesting. : )

The pictures above are of Iasi. I have only been here a day, so I will write more later as I come to know this quite lovely city.

Sfanta Cornelia/Saint Cornelia

Although I am an experienced traveller, arriving in a new country without speaking the language, knowing how to get around, or taking care of basic needs remains a daunting experience that never seems to get easier.

Thankfully I have been well taken care of by Cornelia Vlaicu, an embassy representative. For the last week Cornelia has been in charge of me--guiding me through Bucharest, Brasov, and Iasi. She has translated for me, helped me cart my luggage on and off trains, and shown great patience answering my questions and explaining how the system in Romania works (if such an explanation is possible!).

Cornelia ran away from home during the 1989 Revolution against Ceausescu and spent three days and nights in the streets dodging bullets and stepping over the bodies of the victims of repression.

I asked her how things had changed since the revolution. She paused, smiled, took a drag of her Pall Mall slim cigarette and said: "Well, before if you said anything against the government they would arrest you. Today, you can say whatever you want, but no one will listen to you."

Cornelia also seems to have a knack for attracting all varieties of humanity to approach her and divulge their life stories. As we stood at the platform in Bucharest waiting for our train to Brasov, a man in his 50s or 60s selected her from among over a hundred other passengers to serenade with a drunken version of a 1950s Frank Sinatra song. During the train journey itself two other lonely souls spoke at length with her about the details of their existence. Though she was able to disengage herself after a while, she always did it in a way to preserve their dignity. She never got angry or spoke to them rudely.

At last Cornelia has deposited me into the care of other hosts in Iasi. I am grateful to her for her assistance and good company.

Cornelia has a special appointment on September 20th. Please pray for her on this day.

Pa /Bye

First Glimpses of Romania

I left London after three relaxing days.

I would love to go back. It was a very clean and interesting city.

I arrived in Bucharest on Friday, September 5th.

I was met at the aiport by an embassy representative and taken to my hotel in the heart of the city.

The picture posted here was taken from my hotel window. I may take more pictures later of Bucharest and post them in subsequent blog entries.

Due to wireless problems at my hotel, I have been unable to get online.

This morning I left Bucharest for a day in Transylvania--the city of Brasov. Thankfully there is access to wireless here.

We are here for a meeting of county English inspectors.

The schedule is tight, so I don't have time to update you on my activities for the last five days now. Hopefully I will be able to write a proper posting in a day or two.

Until then...

la revedere

London Calling

Arrived in London yesterday.

My flights worked out well after some confusion.

I had reserved a window seat, but for some reason I was placed in a center seat at the back of the plane.

Forcing a 6ft4 man to take an international flight in a middle seat should be banned by the Geneva Convention.

I was going to just suck it up and endure, but I decided to chance my luck and my limited charm, so I spoke with the woman from the airlines about a seat change.

The flight was oversold with a waiting list, but she managed to get me an aisle seat in Economy Plus (4 extra inches of leg room!).

To my surprise, no one was seated next to me. The plane was just about to take off when a flight attendant asked me if the seat next to me was taken. After a brief flirtation with the idea of saying. "Why yes it is. My wife is just in the bathroom and will be back shortly. Go ahead and take off ", the better angels of my nature took over and I told them the truth.

Thankfully the stand-by passenger that ended up sitting next to me was good company, and he gave me some helpful advice about navigating my way from the airport to my hotel.

Getting from Heathrow to Victoria station started off well. The aiport was the first stop on the line so I easily got a seat and space for my four bags. When I changed trains at Baron's Court, however, the nightmare began.

London at rush-hour is not the best time to travel on the Tube. When my train arrived it was packed like a phone booth full of fraternity brothers. The doors opened and people just rolled their eyes and gave me and my luggage hateful withering looks.

I let two trains go by before I mustered the courage to storm the car. Thankfully, I was able to enter with my bags without injuring anyone.

When I arrived at Victoria station I had to climb four flights of stairs against the flow of hundreds of stampeding commuters heading the opposite direction. After I emerged above ground I had the pleasure of waiting in a rainstorm for 30 minutes to get a taxi to my hotel.

Needless to say I am considering other options for my return trip to the airport.

After a shower and a quiet day at the hotel, I awoke this morning with plans to explore London a bit. First was Buckingham Palace. I arrived after the Changing of the Guard. The flag was raised, so I knew the Queen was in. I was hoping she would emerge, but she was otherwise indisposed. It would have been great if she had opened a window and dangled a baby out of it--a la Michael Jackson--alas it was not to be, so I moved on.

Next I went to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. I took some pictures, but they turned out quite fuzzy. I tried to visit 10 Downing Street, but it was blocked with security.

Finally after eating a Cornish Pastie with a crust the consistency of a wooden shoe, I made my way to the British Museum.

The museum had a fantastic collection of antiquities. It houses the Rosetta Stone and Cleopatra's mummy. The Roman and Greek collections were also quite extensive. I noticed that most of the statues had either their noses or genitalia broken off. The ravages of aging are a sobering reality.

Tomorrow I will visit the Imperial War Museum and attend an evensong service at Westminster Abby or St. Paul's Cathedral.

I will write more when I get to Romania.

Milestones

My very dear friend, Pam Smucker, joined the family for a celebration of milestones.

On September 2nd Pam will be 50 years old. I am sure you will all agree that she looks much younger.

The next time you have a picture taken, be sure to hold a birthday cake with softly burning candles in front of you as well!

Pam maintains the right to celebrate her birthday for the entire month of September, so she will happily accept cards, gifts or cash for several more weeks.

She has admitted that she has indeed received the dreaded first mailing from AARP, but has not yet read it. I suspect it will soon be resting, unopened, at the bottom of a Hefty bag.

I will write more about my new life in Europe in the next few days. In the meantime....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SMUCKY!!!!

Late August Sultry Day

August in Oklahoma


Still summer, but things are afoot.


The lush green of spring has burned off and faded to a dull matte--no depth and yellowed.


Even so, autumn's approach always seems fresh to me. So many beginnings.


During my childhood autumn was the time to buy new school clothes (in "my day" it was Sears Toughskin jeans--husky size--in green, brown, and traditional blue denim). I didn't know that husky meant...well...CHUNKY. I thought it had something to do with the dog breed--a very cool breed I might add--the wolves of suburbia with frozen chrystal blue eyes.


It was also a time to get a new lunch box. This selection was crucial because the lunch box carried the treasured Doritos and Hostess snack cakes. The people of the 70s didn't know about trans-fats. Little since has melted into my palate with such unapologetic brashness.

I only remember two of my lunch box choices. In first grade I had a Looney Tunes box with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck. In second grade I selected a Partridge Family lunch box designed to resemble the hippie-esque bus in which they travelled. I wish I still had these gems. I wonder what they might be worth.


To this day I still love Bugs Bunny. My esteem of the Partridge Family, sadly, has not endured.


Now at the age of 41, I no longer need a new lunch box or Toughskin jeans. As a teacher, though, autumn is still a time for anticipation of new things. New classes, new students, new schedules and lesson plans.

This year in particular, profound change is coming. On Monday I leave the US to assume an English teaching fellowship in Iasi, Romania. I will be gone for a minimum of ten months to train Romanian English teachers.

Though I leave behind friends, family, co-workers, and dogs (one of whom is pictured above), I pray this blog will be a means to stay in touch and share my experiences.

If I happen to find a communist-era Ceausescu lunch box, I will be sure to post pictures of it here.

Regards,

Jeff